


Who We Are

by Brenda



Series: The Lazy Hazy Summer Daze Writing Challenge [7]
Category: Fast & Furious Series, Fast Five (2011)
Genre: F/M, The Lazy Hazy Summer Daze Writing Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:17:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Money doesn't define wealth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who We Are

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the seventh day of the **[Lazy Hazy Summer Daze Writing Challenge](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/1074772.html)** for [](http://starrwisher.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://starrwisher.livejournal.com/)**starrwisher** , who asked for Han/Gisele, "all the things that were left unsaid."

Money wasn't everything. She'd been poor, she'd been rich, and every iteration in between. She'd scrounged for scraps in the streets of Cairo in rags not fit to burn, she'd dined with kings in Kuala Lumpur while wearing jewels worth more than the net worth of some small countries. She'd led men into battle in war, she'd been arm candy in a room full of diplomats. She was used to poverty, to great wealth, to sleeping outdoors in the rain with only a leaky tent for cover, to sleeping on silk sheets in five-star hotels in Dubai.

But Gisele was nothing if not practical. She was a survivor, as all of her people were survivors. She'd learned from a young age to find beauty in suffering, to stay true to herself no matter her surroundings, to never lose who she was under the gilded weight of opulence or the crushing despair of paucity. Possessions did not make her wealthy any more than her face made her attractive, although she'd learned to use both to her advantage.

No, she was not defined by what she wore or how many zeros were in her bank account. Instead, she placed her currency in the people she traveled with, the friends who were far more valuable than any gold or gems.

 _Al tistakel baqanqan, ela bemah shebetokho_ \- Look not at the jar, but what's inside it. That's what made a person rich. Although she was practical enough that she enjoyed the freedom having money provided. It may not be her currency, but it certainly helped to pave the way.

Her musings were interrupted when Han appeared back at their cramped café table, balancing two tiny cups of espresso. She heard smatterings of Italian, Greek, Hungarian, Hebrew, around them, everyone crowded together around small tables, finding safety and anonymity in the crowd.

Han set the cups on the table, sat in the chair across from her, their knees bumping together companionably. His smile was impish as he pulled a bag of sunflower seeds from his jacket pocket and offered her the first handful. She still wasn't sure if she'd fallen for that smile first or his too-generous heart, but in the end, they both meant the same thing. For here was also a man who understood the true currency of the world, and the true worth of a person.

"You know," he commented, blowing on the dark liquid to cool it, "every time you smile like that, I get this itching between my shoulder blades. Like maybe I need to watch my back."

Her smile widened. His easy peace with death was one of his best qualities. Theirs was not a world where growing old was an option. "If I wanted you dead, you would never see it coming."

He popped a handful of seeds into his mouth. "I suppose that's comforting."

"But you are in luck, since I wasn't thinking about that," she continued, snagging a seed from his palm. "In fact, I was thinking that I would rather be poor with you than rich with any other man in the world."

They never defined what they had together – well, not with words. In fact, this might be the closest they'd ever get, she thought, and waited, curious, for his reaction.

He studied her for a moment, then shrugged, and took another small sip of his espresso. "I suppose it's lucky for both of us that you don't have to choose."

"Yes," she answered, covering his hand lightly with hers. "I suppose I am."

***


End file.
